. Under the plumed hat, her eye kindled. A gaunt, powerful man: no feature of his face decided, and yet for all that it had the significance of a countenance hewn out of rock. He was officially in the nun’s employ, but Melusine had commandeered his services immediately on the discovery that he had conceived a passion for her. Yet her aunt, with a ringed hand flitting to her lips and a puzzled, worried look in her eyes, deaf to all this riot of warmth and flitting desire, was playing Patience—playing Patience, as if Dionysius and her curate had died together. "By desire of his Majesty," said the jailer, consequentially.
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